12.01.2018 > 24.02.2018
Marion Charlet’s work stands out as the expression of a constructed, recognizable and homogeneous universe, instantaneously creating ambiguity and disorder: what does this unclassifiable artist, somehow attached to a narrative representation of the last generation, without the political message, tell us?
To enter in a tableau of this true painter is to be called to the heart of a dream that does not belong to us, to share with her, in a form of psychoanalytic wreckage, visions, spaces without referent, proceeding from emptiness, absence, silence and waiting.
To follow Marion Charlet in her apparently feminine universe is to somehow rely on a siren that misleads by its shapes on the real dangers of its charms: in fact, it is a question of entering, without transition and preparation, into a post-apocalyptic universe marked by multiple antagonisms.
Oppositions abound, in fact, and create a mixture of childish quotations, where the acidulous, fluorescent colours compete with black, circling objects or drawing joints between tiles, as if a chromatic filter of the eighties type, like Twin Peaks, had covered the film: blue lights (in David Lynch’s case, the blue color is a gateway to the unconscious) and violent shadows, chromatic flashes and dark permanent deafness.
There is also an obvious opposition between an orderly world, drawn by a line, perspective, architectural, bathed in the heart of a Californian culture, controlled, American-style, absolutely motionless, and an exotic, chaotic, moving and luxuriant nature, as the Douanier Rousseau, very sexed, with disturbing flowers of languor and charms.
Between an organized pole and a perfectly deconstructed pole, the artist invites the spectator to dissolve in this smooth material that is acrylic, treated flatly, like a effervescent tablet in a glass of water. No or few animals... but plants, on the other hand, in profusion, as if the human presence had deserted the canvas, leaving some witnesses suggesting its passage (objects, utensils, various materials,...), life like suddenly had become useless or no longer necessary. Certain compositions are like those earthly paradises abandoned in a hurry, before the passage of a devastating cyclone...
This EDEN is a desert paradise, where memory and memories, side by side with the anecdote, the ridiculous, haunting a-topic spaces, that is to say without place and above all without spirit, mysterious and troubling atmospheres, a kind of Jurassic parks of the future from which could get out mutant creatures, still invisible in the eyes of a layman too much turned towards his present, his civilization... No or few soothing and reassuring horizon lines, but many points of escape: this EDEN could well be a place of delight, a stay full of charms, a perfect state of happiness, but one would advise to check the perfect harmlessness, before to, with no doubt, start running...
Constantin Chariot, December 2017